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Go on to Sunday
Saturday, 8th of April
Q: What's for breakfast? A: Anything so long as it's porridge ...
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The Band
Surviving the Climber's Traverse
The descent
After a night of high winds, rainstorms and sporadic hail showers, my brother James and I woke to see the mountains at the dalehead of Langdale (Crinkle Crags and Bowfell) brooding under a heavy load of snow and a low cloud base. They looked dark and forbidding, certainly beyond anything either of us had experienced in our adventures before. It was a challenge that could not be turned down!
Keen to put my winter mountaineering skills to use for the first time (learned back in February at Aviemore), I urged James to hurry and pack his full winter kit. We left the site at 8 AM and walked through the farmyard of Stool End to the start of the Band, the ridge we would use to ascend the first part of the mountain.
Crinkle Crags just visible against a wintry sky, from the campsite.
The Band
Looking back into the valley from the first part of the Band
This was my third ascent of Bowfell by this route, so I know the path weaving up and over the Band quite well. It's a fairly easy ascent route with a well-paved and stepped track, and quickly climbs to a flat and boggy plateau between the highest point of the Band and the summit structure of the mountain. We reached the snowline within maybe twenty minutes.
Reaching the snowline
The snow got progressively deeper and more icy as we climbed. At or around 500m the path started to get too slippery to safely walk on without some form of aid, and the wind-driven hailstorms and spindrift tornados were becoming annoying, so we stopped to don our full winter gear. James doesn't have a pair of proper crampons so had to make do with his set of 10-point instep crampons, the "Spider" model by Grivel Mont-Blanc. They later proved to be useless for serious mountaineering purposes.
The path, rimed up and treacherous
Me in full winter gear, posing rather self-consciously in front of the Langdale Pikes
I was particularly glad of my snow goggles and balaclava, a combination which provided complete protection from the stinging flurries of hail and spindrift. Thus attired, we located the start of a path I call the "Direct Route" and climbed the remainder of the steepening ridge to the start of the Climber's Traverse. The Traverse begins at a little wall of crag that usually provides a degree of shelter from the elements; on this occasion, however, the wind was even stronger on this side of the mountain.
Me in blizzard-proof mode again. There's something satisfyingly hardcore about this picture. =D
The Climber's Traverse itself looked alarming, under a deep carpet of unstable powder snow. However I made the decision to begin the route. By the time we began to question the wisdom of this decision, it was already too dangerous to turn back, since our passage had significantly weakened the snow and an avalanche would be even more likely. We kept going in the hope that the route would get easier.
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Surviving the Climber's Traverse
The Climber's Traverse. Compare with this from eleven months earlier.
The route was under a blanket of between one and three feet of soft powder snow, and progress was difficult. As soon as it was safe to do so, I stopped and dug a rudimentary avalanche test pit, testing the layers of the snow to search for weaknesses. I concluded that the slope was extremely unstable: most of the snow had either fallen during the night or been blown over from the other side of the mountain, and had not yet had time to bond. I cautioned James to be extremely careful and to use his axe wisely. The knowledge that any wrong move could trigger an avalanche helped keep our minds on the here and now, and not worry about what might lay ahead.
Our first avalanche test pit, the face already crumbling away. Bad snow.
The 2000-foot drop into Rossett Gill that looms below
The Traverse became even narrower and more exposed. Progress could only be made by kicking deep steps into the slope and progressing crabwise, keeping both hands on the head of the ice-axe as a precaution against a slip. We slipped many times, and each slip invariably produced ominous cracks in the snow below us and miniature avalanches of soft powder. It was an alarming section of the route. I later gave it a provisional rating of a Grade 1 (Scottish) snow climb, although in terms of danger it was certainly closer to Grade 2, despite the fact that it was a traverse and not a true climb.
James keeping his eyes on the snow
Eventually we reached slightly firmer ground. I dug another avalanche test pit (a more comprehensive one this time) and was pleased to discover that the powder was better bonded and sat on top of nearly a foot of solid, bomber snow from earlier in the winter. Since the Traverse cuts across the north face of the mountain, I had expected this. We were now able to move with more confidence.
Our second avalanche test pit. Happy snow.
The cloud cover began to lift and break, letting patches of sunlight through and significantly raising the temperature, which had hovered at around -2 Celsius (or -10 with windchill) for most of the ascent. The snowline on the surrounding fells began to visibly retreat after an hour or so. On the Traverse, however, we were still well above the freezing level and the sunshine had little effect, other than to raise morale.
Looking across Mickleden to the Langdale Pikes
As we neared the end of the Climber's Traverse, the ground became more technical again, requiring careful ice axe technique. Being the only one with decent crampons, I led the way, kicking or cutting steps in the soft powder and harder snow pack underneath to help James as he followed closely behind.
Surmounting the final high point of the Traverse
The end is in sight! The massive base of Cambridge Crag lies ahead, with the River of Boulders, our final climb, cutting up to the left.
Three more mountaineers overtook us as we made the final descent to the base of Cambridge Crag, which marks the end of the Climber's Traverse. They looked rather worried and thanked us for kicking steps in the route. Since one of them didn't even have an ice axe, let alone crampons, I'm sure they must have had an even scarier time of it than we did! We were assaulted by continuous spindrift avalanches coming off the Great Slab as we finished the route, which unnerved me. I had a terrifying vision of about a thousand tonnes of snow sliding right off the slab and falling on the Traverse. This was a very real danger, as the spindrift micro-avalanches indicated.
The River of Boulders, a shattered boulder gully under normal conditions, was entirely filled with snow and proved to be an excellent little snow climb. The snow was much firmer than on the Traverse and we quickly reached the high plateau. Our final push to the summit, over the broken boulders of the plateau, was exhiliarating: the clouds lifted, the sun shone, and as we set foot on the highest rock, we were blown away by Bowfell's classic view that I love so much. All of Lakeland was under a blanket of snow above 500m, not least the Scafells away to the west, dark and angry under a snowcloud. Despite the dangers and discomforts of the ascent, the summit is always worth it!
SUMMIT!
Langdale from Bowfell summit. I love this view.
My summit photo!
Contrast: bright ice and gloomy Eskdale
The Scafells, highest mountain range in England
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The descent
Looking towards Langstrath. This photo sums up everything I love about winter mountaineering.
We descended by the well-used walkers' highway of the North Ridge, a gentle, well-cairned route extending to the col of Ore Gap between Bowfell and its neighbour Esk Pike. The plan had originally been to ascend Esk Pike as well, then make our way back from Esk Hause (mirroring the route I took last October), but James was dubious of another snow climb and we thought it best to make our retreat from the mountains.
As we passed the mouth of the gully between Bowfell Buttress and Cambridge Crag, we noticed a massive cornice hanging over the edge, reminding us that the majority of accidents occur in descent. We stuck to clean snowfields and gentle fellsides all of the way down, avoiding ridges and other avalanche-prone locations.
The big cornice. Don't walk too close to the edge, kids.
Esk Pike and Angle Tarn
From Ore Gap we followed a sketchy path to Angle Tarn, then joined the main pass linking Rossett Gill with Esk Hause. Rossett Gill is a route I've always rather liked, although I admit that the only time I've ascended the path it was a far from enjoyable experience (hot sun, too many Scafell Pike baggers on my tail, and a killer load on my back). It is however a pleasant and quick way out of the mountains and back into Langdale.
James didn't agree: we missed one of the sharp turns in the snow, and ended up following a muddy and confused path along the bank of a minor gill, and didn't realise our mistake until we were below the snowline. My fault!
